


Lavender

by amscray_punk



Series: Yes, Chef [6]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, and soft, but like that's not the focus, it's very sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: A hotshot restaurant critic is coming to Jacobi's, and Spot's very stressed out. Race helps him relax.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Yes, Chef [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953946
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. Another restaurant AU fic because, well, I love these soft bois so very much. Pls enjoy

Race was exhausted.

He, along with a few other members of the front-of-house staff, had been held hostage in the dining room for the last several hours. They’d cleaned, polished, cleaned again, rearranged—only to put everything back where it was before—and Race was beyond ready to go home. The dining room and bar were immaculately clean, and Race knew what he’d find when he stepped into the kitchen after dismissing an equally worn out Romeo and Tommy. 

He snorted when he walked through the door; the kitchen was sparkling clean, of course, and it seemed as though Spot was not above holding _his_ staff hostage all night long. Poor Henry was on his hands and knees behind the line, scrubbing between the floor tiles with a toothbrush; Al was precariously balanced on a step stool, polishing the (already shining) stainless steel cooler. Race rolled his eyes as he made his way through the kitchen, heading for the offices in the back. He passed his own office door and headed instead for Spot’s, opening it without knocking and sliding into the small chair next to Spot’s desk. After a few moments of just watching Spot, hunched over what Race could only assume was his menu for the next evening, Race finally cleared his throat in a not-so-subtle attempt to grab his attention. Spot jumped, visibly startled.

“Shit, Racer,” He huffed, one hand going reflexively to his chest as if to calm his racing heart. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“No shit?" Race said, smirking. “You’re gonna burn holes through that menu if you keep starin’ at it like that, y’know.” Spot sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead. “You’re not worried about tomorrow, are you?”

“‘Course I am,” Spot answered; he tried to sound annoyed, but landed more on the side of nervous and weary. Race reached out, resting his hand gently on Spot’s where it laid on the desk; Spot instinctively turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze. “It’s not every day that—”

Spot stopped abruptly as the door to the office swung open again, startling them both this time. Race dropped Spot’s hand immediately, although there was no need; everyone had known about them for a few months, now, and no one but the general manager would come barging in Spot’s office like that. But it was a hard habit to break, and Spot still liked to keep things as professional as possible between them while they were actually inside the restaurant.

“Heya, Spot—oh, Racer!” Jack’s upbeat demeanor brought a welcome change to the quiet, tense office, and Race found himself returning Jack’s easy smile with no hesitation. Jack’s eyes sparkled as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Shoulda known you’d be in here together—”

“Shut it, Kelly,” Spot groaned, rubbing both hands over his face. Race fought the urge to reach for him again, instead bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. 

“Alright, alright,” Jack relented, chuckling. “Just wanted to check in with ya before I head out. Since we have such a big day tomorrow and all.”

“Oh, do we?” Spot asked, feigning surprise as he turned in his chair to face Jack. “We have a big day tomorrow? How could ya tell? Was it—”

“Oookay, that’s enough,” Race said, jumping out of his chair and placing himself between the two of them. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, gently pushing him back into the hall. Jack went somewhat reluctantly, an amused grin still on his face as Race poked his head out the door. “Send Al and Henry home, will ya, Jackie? I’ll take care of Spot.”

“I’m sure you will—”

Race bit down the laugh that threatened to escape as he closed the door in Jack’s face, schooling his features into something resembling neutral before he turned around. Spot had braced himself over his desk, poring over the menu again and Race was _done_. He picked up Spot’s coat from where it was draped over the back of his chair, checked his pocket for his keys, and opened the door. When Spot didn’t move, Race sighed and flipped off the light, throwing him into darkness.

“What the—” Spot sputtered, and Race again had to fight down his amusement. 

“C’mon,” He said, stepping out into the hallway, slightly better lit than the dark office. “Let’s go home.”

“But—”

“No buts, Sean,” Race’s tone was firm, and he could see how much Spot wanted to argue with him, even in the dim light. “You’ll be useless tomorrow if we stay here any longer. There’s nothing else that needs to be done.” Spot sighed, eyes drifting back to the scattered papers on his desk. “Fine, you stay here and sleep in your chair, I’m taking your car home and I’m gonna make _such_ a mess of the apartment—”

“ _Fine,_ fine, let’s go.”

  
  
  
  


Race shoved past Spot when he opened the front door, heading straight for the bathroom and locking the door behind him. If Spot wouldn't relax on his own, Race would _make_ him. He turned on the water and flipped on the in-shower oil diffuser he'd convinced Spot—okay, he hadn't _convinced_ him so much as he'd just put it up without asking, but that wasn't really the point—to let him install. Within moments, the bathroom was hot and steamy, the soothing scent of lavender permeating every square inch. _Perfect_. He finally opened the door to see Spot just on the other side, one eyebrow raised.

“What the _hell,_ Racer—” Race didn’t give him a chance to finish; just reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him into the bathroom and closing the door quickly behind him.

“Careful, Spotty, you’ll let out all the steam.”

“Steam, what—” Spot cut off in surprise when Race relieved him of his shirt, tossing it haphazardly into the corner. “—are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Race asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Spot allowed him to keep undressing him, watching Race curiously when he finished and moved onto his own clothes, which quickly joined Spot’s on the floor. “Forcing you to relax.”

“I’m not sure that’s how relaxation is supposed to work.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a special case,” Race quipped, stepping into the shower and taking Spot by the hand to pull him inside. 

"I can't tell if that's a compliment or not," Spot said, sounding at least a little amused at the situation, if still entirely too stressed out. Race chuckled as he pulled him close under the spray.

"'Course it is," Race said before leaning in to kiss him softly. He ran his fingers through Spot’s dampening hair as they kissed, scratching lightly with his nails and drawing a soft sigh of contentment from him that made Race smile against his lips. He ran his hands down Spot’s neck and shoulders, massaging gently here and there and earning a few downright intoxicating sounds as some of the tension faded from Spot’s muscles. Race tried not to think about how incredible those sounds were, how they sounded almost like— _no, Racer_ , he told himself, giving a little shake of his head. _Focus_.

This wasn't the first time Race had tasked himself with de-stressing Spot, so he did have a few tricks up his sleeve—like just how quickly Spot could be undone by the gentle scratch of nails against his scalp, or knowing where exactly in his shoulders he carried most of his stress. It was, however, the first time that Bryan Denton, renowned restaurant critic for the _Times_ , would be visiting Jacobi’s, and Race had never seen Spot _this_ nervous. It was a little bit cute, if he were honest; sort of endearing, in a way, to see Spot rattled like this. If he weren’t so genuinely concerned about Spot’s well-being—had he eaten today, even?—he would have teased him mercilessly for it. But the fact remained that Race _was_ concerned, and as Spot’s boyfriend—they’d become official a few months earlier, and he wasn’t yet tired of reminding himself of that fact—he had a duty to do all that he could to help him relax.

Race turned them carefully so that Spot was directly under the stream, finally pulling back to avoid, well, drowning. He took a step back to allow Spot to clean up, regardless of how badly he wanted to take over—he could almost hear Spot in his head, grumbling, “Can wash myself, Racer.” He decided, instead, to hang back and enjoy the view; watched as Spot tilted his head back to rinse his hair, eyes closed and throat exposed; watched the suds sliding down his chest, his toned stomach, his… Race’s hand twitched in Spot’s direction before he caught himself, biting his lip. _You’re supposed to help him relax, remember?_ He hadn’t yet dragged his gaze away when Spot pointedly cleared his throat and Race looked up quickly, knowing he was caught. Spot grinned, and just that small sign that Race was doing his job in distracting him, at least, made his heart flutter and he smirked back.

“What?” He asked, completely shameless as he stepped up to him again, sliding his arms around Spot’s neck and pulling him flush against him.

“See somethin’ ya like?” Spot asked innocently, arms slipping automatically around Race’s waist, one hand splayed over the small of his back to bring them even closer together. Race let out a little gasp at the contact; this wasn’t _exactly_ how he’d intended this shower to unfold, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

“I dunno,” He answered coyly, bringing one hand to tangle in Spot’s wet hair at the back. He gave a little tug and Spot’s breath caught; Race grinned, ducking down to nip at Spot’s bottom lip in his distraction. “Might have to get a closer look to find out.” Race spoke the words against his lips, letting his other hand trail down Spot’s chest and stomach; smirked when Spot shuddered under his gentle touch.

“By all means,” Spot murmured, eyes nearly closed as he looked down his lashes at him. “Be my guest.” 

Race closed the space between them, kissing him quickly to stop the _yes, Chef_ from slipping out; he didn’t want _anything_ to remind Spot of the restaurant, just now. He took a step away from the water, bringing Spot with him and turning halfway so that Spot’s back was pressed against the shower wall. Race worried, briefly, that he might be too cold like this; but the room was so hot, so filled with steam that Spot didn’t even seem to notice the cool tiles against his skin. Race took that as another sign that he was fulfilling his duties and he smiled into their kiss before pulling back to rest his forehead against Spot’s. 

“How are you feeling?” Race asked, waiting until he heard Spot’s intake of breath that indicated he was about to answer before he reached down and wrapped a hand around him.

“I’m— _ah, fuck_ , Racer,” Spot gasped, head falling back instinctively against the wall. Race leaned in to kiss lightly down the side of his neck as he worked him almost lazily, too slowly to bring any real relief, but enough to keep Spot distracted by the sensations of Race’s lips and hands. 

“S’that right?” Race asked, chuckling against his skin as he moved his lips along his collarbone, alternating between gentle bites and soft sweeps of his tongue. Spot cursed again, hips jerking in an attempt to make Race go faster; he dropped his other hand to Spot’s hip, holding him still against the wall as he continued his slow pace. “Didn’t know that was a feeling, but I’ll take it.”

“Shut up,” Spot managed, no heat behind the words as his eyes fluttered shut, small crease in his brow yet another confirmation that Race had his full attention. Race tipped his chin up to kiss his lips again, quickly, before resuming his downward path.

“Hmm, no,” Race hummed against the slick skin of Spot’s chest as he kissed his way down. “Don’t think I will.”

“No surprise there,” Race glanced up through his lashes, one eyebrow raised at the smirk on Spot’s face as he looked down at him. 

“You are _so_ lucky I—” Race stopped abruptly; even if what he’d almost said was true, this was decidedly _not_ the time to say it. Spot, ever observant, raised his eyebrows in question. 

“So lucky you—” Spot broke off in a gasp when Race tightened his grip around his cock and tugged, successfully distracting him enough that his eyes closed and his head dropped back against the wall again. “Fuck, Racer.”

“I was _going_ to say,” Race continued haughtily, keeping his grip tight as he resumed pressing biting kisses down Spot’s stomach. “That you’re _so_ lucky I love getting on my knees for you.” Spot cursed at that and Race smirked as he kissed one hip, then the other, still working him steadily with his hand. 

“Yeah,” Spot agreed breathily, sliding one hand into Race’s hair and gripping tightly. “I am.” 

“Aw, Spotty,” Race teased, leaning back and pressing a kiss to the tip of Spot’s cock, drawing another choked gasp from him. “You’re so sweet.” He slid his hand to wrap around the base, leaning in to drag his tongue slowly along the underside. He swirled his tongue around the tip, looking up through his lashes at Spot. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration and bottom lip between his teeth and Race moaned at the sight, knowing he couldn’t tease him much longer. Spot’s hand tightened in his hair.

“Tony, _please,_ ” He moaned brokenly, and Race let out a sigh of something like relief before he wrapped his lips around him and surged forward. He held Spot in place with both hands on his hips, letting his eyes flutter closed as he focused on the feeling of Spot’s cock in his mouth, his throat; focused on the groans of pleasure that fell from his lips as he moved, hollowing his cheeks around him. “Fuck, you’re so good at this, baby.”

Race hummed happily, knowing the vibrations added another level of sensation and he was rewarded with another moan from above him that made him shudder; _fuck, he’s sexy._ Spot’s praise, his shameless moans and the way they shot straight through Race spurred him on and he redoubled his efforts, digging his fingers into Spot’s hips as he relaxed his throat to take him even deeper. Spot choked on his name, hips moving of their own accord and Race could tell he was getting close by the way his breath turned to short little gasps, punctuated by curses and breathy whispers of _shit, Racer_ and _please, baby, don’t stop_. Race didn’t stop, just held Spot more firmly against the wall as he picked up the pace, ignoring the soreness in his jaw and knees, eyes rolling back when Spot pulled hard on his hair.

“Racer, _fuck_ I—” Spot didn’t get to finish his warning before he was coming, mouth dropping open in a gasp as he held Race in place by his hair. Race closed his eyes, not stopping his movements until he’d swallowed every last drop and he pulled off with a soft moan, heart thudding in his chest while he caught his breath. He stood shakily, wincing against the pain in his knees—which was all but forgotten when Spot hooked a hand around the back of his neck and dragged him down for a hot, desperate kiss that he happily returned. He ground against Spot’s thigh almost unconsciously, breaking the kiss when the sensation was just a little too much to handle and he dropped his head against Spot’s shoulder, panting.

“Spotty, you should—”

“Take care of you now? Yeah, I know—”

“No,” Race insisted, standing up straight and pulling away, not without difficulty. “I’ll be fine, babe. Go to bed, I’ll meet you there.”

“But—” Race cut him off with a kiss, sliding open the shower door and walking him backward until he all but pushed him out of the shower. 

“I can handle it, Spot. Go to bed. I’ll be there in a minute. Trust me,” He added with a wink, letting his eyes roam over Spot’s naked form, still dripping wet. “It won’t take long.” Spot huffed a laugh at that but obliged, wrapping a towel around his waist before he exited the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him.

Race wasn’t lying; it truly didn’t take long, only a few moments of remembering the way Spot had moaned his name as he stroked himself and he came hard, one hand braced against the shower wall for balance. After he blinked the stars from his eyes, he washed quickly and turned off the water, which had grown lukewarm, and switched off the diffuser before stepping out to dry off.

Spot was already in bed, TV on and lights out, when Race joined him. He dressed quickly, grabbing a pair of boxer briefs and pajama pants from his _two_ drawers before he climbed into bed and snuggled up to Spot. He rested his head on Spot’s still-bare chest, smiling softly when he felt Spot press a kiss to his damp curls. 

“Thank you,” Spot whispered. Race tilted his chin up to look at him, frowning in faux confusion.

“For what?”

Spot rolled his eyes but his smile came easily and Race matched it, giggling. “You know for what.” Race pressed up on an elbow to kiss him sweetly.

“You’re welcome,” He murmured against his lips, half on top of him now as he nuzzled his nose into Spot’s neck. After a moment of quiet, both half-watching an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine they’d seen countless times, Race took a chance. “It’s gonna be great, you know.”

“Hmm?” 

Race bit his lip, almost reconsidering bringing it up again, after he’d finally gotten Spot to relax, but he decided to push on, anyway.

“Tomorrow,” He clarified, pressing another soft kiss to Spot’s neck; he could feel Spot’s heartrate pick up and he hurried to reassure him. “It’s gonna be wonderful, you’re an amazing chef, your food is to _die_ for, I love you I love your menu it’s so unique and yet classic at the same time—”

“Wait,” Spot interrupted, fingers tightening around Race’s hip just slightly. “What did you just say?”

“Damn, Spotty, weren’t ya listening?” Race huffed, exasperated. “I said—”

“You love me?”

“I—” Race stopped, mouth open and heart pounding. _Shit._ He _had_ said that, hadn’t he? He felt his cheeks flush and he was glad his face was still buried in Spot’s neck. “Did-did I say that?” Spot let out a breathy little laugh and it gave Race the courage he needed to lift his head and look at him.

“You did,” Spot answered, nodding slowly. “Did you mean it?”

“I, uh,” Race stuttered, one hand raking through his hair in a nervous habit. “Well, I hadn’t planned on tellin’ ya like this—”

“Racer,”

“Hmm?”

“Did. You. Mean. It?” Spot’s eyes roamed over Race’s face and Race forced himself to meet his gaze, swallowing hard. Spot was looking at him with something like wonder in his expression, still holding him tightly and Race softened, a small smile tugging at his lips despite his nerves. He nodded.

“Of course I do, Spot,” He answered quietly. “I—” 

But Spot cut him off with a kiss, turning on his side so they were lying face to face. His hand came up to cup Race’s jaw and Race melted into him, hooking a leg over Spot’s hip to pull him impossibly closer. Any fears, any doubts he had drained away as they kissed, slow, deep, and everything Race wanted. His hand slipped into Spot’s hair and he was breathless when Spot pulled away a few minutes later, looking down at him with bright, sparkling eyes.

“Spot—”

“Move in with me.”

“What?” Race gasped, certain he’d heard him wrong. Spot brushed his thumb over Race’s cheekbone, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“I said, move in with me,” Spot said, enunciating every syllable clearly. Race’s mouth hung open in shock.

“Are you serious?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. Spot raised an eyebrow.

“Do I sound like I’m joking? Of course I’m serious, Racer,” Race could detect nothing but sincerity in his tone and his heart fluttered in his chest. “You practically live here already. Do you know where I’d be right now if not for you?”

“Where?”

“I’d be in my office, probably passed out on my desk,” Spot deadpanned, drawing a giddy laugh from Race; it was probably true, and the image was more than a little funny. “But instead I’m here, wrapped up in you, more relaxed than I’ve been in _weeks_ , and it’s all thanks to you. All because of you, Tony.”

“Sean, I—”

“You don’t have to answer me right now,” Spot hurried to add, and the slight edge of panic Race heard in his voice made him melt. He pressed a finger to Spot’s lips, halting any backtracking before it could begin.

“I will,” Race said, splitting into a wide, blinding smile. Spot’s eyebrows lifted the slightest bit as he grinned back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Race answered, moving his hand around Spot’s head to pull him down for another kiss. Spot went eagerly and Race tried to pour all of his emotions into the kiss; he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel himself trembling. Spot wanted him, just like this, every day and night, and suddenly all he wanted was to say it again. He pulled back just slightly, keeping his eyes closed as he rested his forehead against Spot’s. “I love you,” He said again, and it was enough just to say it, just to know that Spot knew—

“I love you too.” 

Race’s head snapped up, eyes wide as they bore into Spot’s—who looked back at him with eyes so dark and earnest it made his heart ache, just a little. 

“Really?” His voice came out a quiet squeak and he felt his cheeks flush again. But Spot just smiled at him, looking at him as if he were something precious as he brushed a stray curl from his eyes.

“Really,” Spot nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Thank you.” Race’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“For what?”

“For being you, for taking care of me when I don’t know what I need.” Spot answered, pulling him close so that Race rested his head on his chest again. “And for loving me.”

“You make it easy,” Race said loftily; everything felt that way now, as though they were floating on air and he nuzzled into him. "Most of the time, anyway. Even when you're needlessly stressed—" Spot dug his fingers into Race’s ribs and he squirmed, letting out a high-pitched giggle. "Hey! Stop," He gasped with laughter, trying desperately to escape Spot’s grasp. Spot chuckled, taking pity on him and pulling him close again. Race sighed happily, tracing lazy patterns on Spot’s chest with his fingers. "I mean it, you know." 

"What's that?" Spot's voice was low, relaxed, on the verge of sleep. _Good._ Race let his eyes close as he hummed softly. 

"You have no reason to worry. You're gonna kill it tomorrow." 

"Thanks, baby," Spot whispered, dropping a kiss to his hair. "For everything." 

"Mmm, anytime," Race sighed, feeling sleep creeping up on him already; he couldn't remember ever feeling this relaxed, this content. He'd just begun to lose consciousness when Spot’s soft voice startled him.

"Racer,"

"Hmm?"

A gentle squeeze. "Love you."

Race smiled against Spot’s skin. "Love you, too."


End file.
